Overheard in my Kitchen

Me: I wonder if a thousand years from now archaeologists will dig up a jar of this peanut butter, read “Sealed for Your Protection” and conclude that the jar contains something sinister.

TR: It does.

Starbucks

I love Starbucks. I really do. The best drink in existence is a Starbucks Venti® Latte with 3 shots of espresso (notice the correct spelling of the word “espresso” – it’s not eXpresso people! C’mon, get it right!).

However, I do have a little complaint about the drive-thru at Starbucks. Their opening greeting sucks.

A typical conversation at any other drive-thru goes something like this:

“Welcome to (Fill-In-The-Blank-Restaurant), may I take your order please?”

“Yes, I’d like a…”

Not at Starbucks. Oh no. Here’s what you get there:

“Thank you for choosing Starbucks, my name is Bambi. How are you doing today?”

“Uh. Er. Um. Ok, I guess.”

Followed by an uncomfortable silence that stretches on for several seconds.

Why are they asking how I’m doing? Do they know me? They obviously don’t care about the answer to the question, judging by the long uncomfortable silence. I wonder how they’d react if I told them I was dying of some rare incurable disease, but if I could just get a decent Frappuccino® I could pull through. Why ask a question if you’re not really interested in the answer? And if you’re not interested in the answer, for heaven’s sake ask me a question that you really are interested in, like what would I like to drink!

Sorry. It’s early and I haven’t had my latte yet.

How Momofuku Ando Saved My Family

Instant ramen is probably one of the greatest food inventions ever. At 10 cents a package, it’s hard to beat for a good meal. Oh sure, you could argue that its nutritional value is virtually nil. But there are so many other good things about it, that you can safely ignore that. For instance, there is the fact that if you are hungry, it will make you full. Also a good thing is that fact that it comes in many interesting flavors, such as beef, chicken, shrimp, lime shrimp, teriyaki chicken, teriyaki beef and oriental (I’ll bet you didn’t know the orient even had a particular flavor). You can live off of it for a month and it will have only cost you $9.00 (which is excellent savings if you’re a poor college student, or have more kids than you know what to do with). Of course, your skin may change into an interesting shade of orange by the end of the month, but at least you won’t be starving.

Ramen is practically a main staple in our house, but Friday night it nearly killed us. Let me explain. My youngest daughter has ballet class every Friday night from 6:00 to 7:00. A rather inconvenient time that has been a source of frustration for me, because it means that, a) we don’t get dinner till very late, and b) it means that if my wife and I want to go out on a Friday night we don’t get anywhere until 8:00 (which is pretty close to our bed time (just kidding, we’re not that old yet… sheesh!)). But this is our youngest, our baby, our pride and joy, our little princess (you know, the spoiled one), so we make the sacrifice. Anyway, I digress… This past Friday night when we got home, my daughter decided to cook some ramen for dinner (she had ballet, if you’ll recall, and so hadn’t eaten yet). She put some water in a pan and placed it on the stove to heat it up, then went into the living room to watch a movie with her sisters. Unfortunately, she had failed to notice the plastic strainer that her sisters had left sitting next to the burner when they had made macaroni and cheese (another main staple… we spare no expense when feeding our children) earlier in the evening.

I walked out of my bedroom, having just finished my t.v. dinner (Banquet’s “Rib Shaped” Meat dinner, if you must know. I told you we dine like royalty) and into the kitchen and found the plastic strainer engulfed in flames. I think I yelled something like, “AAAAaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!” and started running around frantically, trying to remember where we kept the fire extinguisher. In my panicked state, and not wanting to waste anymore time, I looked for a portion of the strainer that was not on fire, grabbed it and flung it across the room into the sink (luckily it’s a small kitchen, and my aim was good), where I dowsed it with water.

It was extremely fortunate that I went into the kitchen when I did. The whole thing could have been a lot worse. The only real damage was to the plastic strainer, which wouldn’t even strain an elephant in its current state (see picture to the left). The house smells like burned plastic, but I’m sure that will fade in time. The kids have been banned from making ramen for the rest of their lives… okay, I made that up… but I did give them a good talking to about cleaning up after they make macaroni and cheese (or anything else, for that matter). I also lectured them about keeping an eye on what flammable materials might be sitting on top of the stove before cooking anything. Perhaps Someone up on high was watching out for us… I like to think that it was the spirit of Momofuku Ando bending God’s ear to intervene on behalf of some of his best customers. Perhaps… perhaps.

I Love Liver

I love liver.

There. I said it.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “So, that’s the guy!”

I know how most people feel about liver. I’ve seen and heard the reactions. I know that Fonzie said that it was his kryptonite (Fonzie? Ew, my age is showing). But I can’t help it. Liver is one of my favorite foods. Sometimes I even crave it.

The problem is, that I’ve become a bit paranoid about the whole thing (at least I hope I’m being paranoid). You see, a while back I ordered liver and onions in a restaurant and the waitress got a shocked look on her face and said, “You’re kidding, right?” I assured her that I was completely serious. She said, “I don’t think anyone’s ever ordered that before.” But wrote down the order despite her skepticism. When she arrived a little while later with my order, she actually stood there to watch me take the first bite. I guess she wanted to make sure I wasn’t just pulling her leg. I’m surprised she didn’t start looking around for hidden cameras.

Ever since then, I’ve been somewhat hesitant to order liver. Even if it’s on the menu, I’m almost afraid they’ve put it there as a joke. But I love it, and my wife refuses to cook it for me – unless it’s a really special occasion (like our 50th wedding anniversary, which won’t be for another 33 years). Anyway, the other night we were at Mimi’s, and they have the best liver on the planet – smothered in onions, mushrooms and bacon – it’s incredible. With a bit of trepidation I ordered it. The waitress – bless her heart – didn’t skip a beat as she wrote it down and asked me if I wanted fries, baked potato, mashed potato or rice pilaf. I chose mashed potatoes with gravy and a cup of their corn chowder – which is to die for – on the side.

I thought everything was fine, but then I noticed one of the other servers kind of giving me a look out of the corner of her eye. Now, years ago I might have thought something completely different. But after I brought sexy back those types of things have stopped happening, so I got a little worried. Then I noticed it had gotten a little quiet in the kitchen, and I started imagining what might be happening back there. Our server had gone in and whispered, “Hey. That guy that orders liver is here.” The cooks all had to draw straws and the unlucky guy who drew the short straw had to cook my order. The rest of the kitchen staff went out on an extended smoke break.

My order arrived in due time, and though I didn’t see any heads peaking out from the kitchen door, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. And all through dinner I kept glancing up, and it seemed that each time I looked around people were in the process of quickly looking away. I had to fight the urge to stand up and shout, “What!? It’s just liver for crying out loud! It’s on the menu!” It’s that feeling you get when you know people are talking about you behind your back, but you can’t prove anything. Like I said, I’m getting a little paranoid.

I wish I could just learn to like broccoli. That’s at least a little more socially acceptable.